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I call a girl named Julie from my contacts. When she answers, she says she wondered what happened with me, and she hated to see me leave the agency. Says it was nice to have a little less testosterone there. We agree to meet for drinks on Friday.
10
Friday night and three drinks too many sees me flopping face down onto a gray leather sofa in the penthouse at two in the morning. I get a text. Julie making sure I got home okay. I let her know I did, make sure she did, too, then flop back against the leather.
She's nice enough, but there isn't really a strong friend connection there. I scroll through the contact list, landing once again on Seven and Declan. Alcohol and cell phones are really bad combinations for me. I know this. It's how that sad clown phone call to Andrew happened.
I'm not calling them. Yes, let's call two psychos who spent three weeks fucking me in every way one can be fucked both physically and mentally, in the middle of the night. What could possibly go wrong?
But drunk Kate is not strong enough to stop herself from pushing the call button.
Seven answers on the third ring. “Hello, Kate.”
I have visions of Hannibal Lector at this smooth greeting at two o'clock in the morning. Suddenly I feel stone-cold sober. I bolt upright on the sofa, gripping the phone like a lifeline. I should hang up, but I don't. I just want to hear his voice.
“Hey, Seven,” I say, trying to sound casual as though we once had a few nice dates and I'm just calling to catch up.
“I'm sorry, that's not my name, and you know it.”
“Master,” I correct. I can't help that this word goes straight to my pussy. They've trained me so well. And they knew I would call and beg to come back to my cage. Though I haven't sunk quite so low yet.
“Better,” he says. “Now what can I do for you?” His voice is so calm and in control, and I crave everything that voice is right now. I crave their calm control even as I know how messed up it is.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. It's late. I had some drinks. I'm... I'm sorry.”
His voice is low and soft when he speaks again. “Do you want us to come get you and bring you back home, Kitten?”
I try to keep my tears quiet, but I'm sure he can hear them. “Yes, Master,” I whisper. And it's true.
I'm in so much trouble.
* * *
The words Seven and Declan light up my phone screen when it rings.
“Master?” I say when I answer.
“Good girl,” Seven says. “I'm here. Come to the parking garage. Bring nothing but your keys.” He disconnects the call before I can respond.
Suddenly I’m nothing but doubt and anxiety. What am I doing? Why would I hand myself back over to them? Yet even as I silently ask the question, I know why. At the sound of his voice in my ear, with only those few words, my body is alive, awake in a way it hasn't been awake since they released me.
I shove the keys into the pocket of my jeans.
When I enter the parking garage, he's leaning against an understated gold Maserati, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his gaze locked on mine. Some fucked-up broken part of me wants to kneel at his feet and wait for the praise as he pets my hair and calls me his good girl, but I resist. This is a public place, and even in the middle of the night, anyone could stumble upon us.
I want to run back inside and lock myself inside the penthouse. The fact that he has this effect on me even after everything has me scared of him in an entirely new way.
“I missed you, Kitten.”
He pushes off the car then unlocks and opens the passenger side for me. I get in and jump when the door shuts. Before I can do something sane, like open my door and run, he's in the driver's seat, the car is starting, and we’re moving.
The drive back home is silent except for the sound of classical music coming in through the sound system. I wonder if Seven is the classical music lover or if both of them are. The drive is longer than I remember, and it becomes obvious the longer we drive that it truly is out in the middle of nowhere.
We're driving now on an old road without any street lights, with endless old and thick gnarled trees lined up, their branches and leaves canopying over us, inviting us ominously into the deep, dark wood. I feel like red riding hood, and my driver is the wolf.
After what feels like an endless drive in this densely wooded area, we finally come upon a huge iron gate. He presses a button on a remote control, and it slides open without complaint. Now there are lights every few yards, and the landscape is what I remember, the endless gently rolling hills free of trees. I look back to see a high wall winding around the perimeter of the property.
Now this road feels like it goes on forever. The anticipation is killing me. Finally we reach... well, house isn't exactly the word I'd use. Since I wasn't allowed to roam freely, I never knew just how big it was. But house is far too mild a description. Estate? Mansion? Palace? Resort? Nothing really seems expansive enough to explain where they live.
